


Mentally Trapped (JereMike FNaF)

by MikeWritesThings (orphan_account)



Series: Five Nights at Freddy's [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Abuse, Balloon Boy is a little bitch, Blood, Cancer, Graphic Scenes, M/M, Rating may go up, Sad, Sadness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3732976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/MikeWritesThings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike Schmidt, victim of the bite of '87, has a temper. And brain damage. And lots of other things that lead to his 'black-outs', moments when he doesn't respond to anything, or doesn't act normally.</p><p>Jeremy Fitzgerald, new hire at Freddy Fazbear's, is a bit of a scaredy cat. He's a newbie and the anamatronics like scaring newbies. They thing is, though, Jeremy is kind of frail, and he's forever going to be haunted by the images of them.</p><p>Neither of them is exactly stable, but people only know about Mike.</p><p>Which is why they're pinning the blame of a murder of a child on him.</p><p>Mike has to deal with lots of things at the moment-decrease in pay, training the new hire, kinda falling in love with him, accusations, Fazfuck being a dick, etc.,</p><p>But he's not prepared to be mentally trapped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mike Schmidt really hated his job.

Sure, it was much better than with his nose pressed to a tablet worrying about when the power would run and which one of the anamatronics was on the move, making sure to frequently wind the music box and put on that stupid mask and stand completely still so he wouldn't be caught and stuffed into a Freddy Fazbear (or, as Mike lovingly like to call him, Fazfuck) suit and die.

Not to mention that job was low paying as shit, the management was an uncaring asshole, and he full out hated that dumbass chicken whore. Seriously. She was a total whore. To Mike, Anyways.

But it's not like his new job was a real improvement. Now, he was just a security guard, not a night watch guard, and observed the party-goers and tried to remember which child belonged to which party and make sure they didn't dance on the tables. Occasionally, he had to crawl into the Freddy FunHouse and rescue some screaming, snotty brat who didn't want to get out.

Mike was never going to have kids. They snuck up behind him and poked him with random assorted items, from pirate swords to pizza to rolls of toilet paper stolen from the restroom. They liked to step on his feet and wipe their sticky hands on his uniform and be as loud and annoying as fuck.

But they got whatever they deserved whenever one of those sneaky bastards decided to swipe his hat. They would sneakily reach for it, grab it stealthily, then swipe it from the top of his head, intent on running away, before the child caught sight of the top of his head. Long, jagged scars, some still with stitches, scabbing in places, with not much hair at all, just a bare stubble that Mike used to support his 'fuck no I'm not bald' statement.

It would seem like an eternity as they stared at the horrifying scars from an incident he didn't even have a memory of, before screaming and throwing the cap back in his face, where he would place it back on his head and glare at all the other snot-nosed brats staring up at him with wide eyes. It was then that he would stick his tongue out childishly and watch the other children scream and scatter, running for the safety of their mothers.

Mike didb't like others gawking at his head, and it didn't feel any better with knowing the fact that he had brain damage. I mean, losing your frontal lobe did not come without consequences. He was affecected with a nasty temper (or maybe he was always meant to be that way) every now and then struggled with simple tasks (which button turned on the microwave again?) and was a little OCD (okay, a lot).

Everybody treated him the same as everybody else, until they learned of his brain damage. Next thing he knew, they were speaking to him rather slowly, loudly, clearly, explaining things to him like a kindergarten teacher explains to a child that one plus one does not add up to eleven, but two. They treated him like a mental patient with social problems.

Those were usually the people Mike punched first.

Then there were other people, like his boss, who didn't have a flying fuck to give about his brain damage. And, he hated to admit, but he really liked that. He wasn't being treated like some slow, dumb fool. He was being treated like a person. A normal, average person.

So, Mike had a job that helped pay rent, he was able to put some time aside for himself, enjoyed flipping of the anamatronics as they sung their stupid songs. It was a life Mike was perfectly content with living with simply because he had never known anything else.

Then a little shit by the name of Jeremy Fitzgerald changed it all.


	2. Chapter Two

Mike glared at all the little girls spread out in front of him, acting like little princesses which irritated him to no end. One threw a party hat him. Another called him 'Mr. Rainbow.' He had to restrain from punching a wall. Out of all the shitty jobs he could have gotten hired for, why did it have to be Fazfuck's....

The management grinned at him from the pizza counter and Mike casually scratched his nose with his middle finger, making sure he saw him. The management continued to smile at him until Mike turned away, feeling unlucky that his boss was an asshole that was unaffected by his asshole remarks.

The theme of one of the kids party's was purple and he made sure to steer clear of it, nose wrinkling in disgust at the choice of color. Mike didn't know why, but he always hated the color purple. And pepperoni pizza. And, for reasons he couldn't remember, he's always been rather hesitant around foxes of any kind, even kind of wanting to steer clear of pirate cove. Mike didn't know why he hated all these things, but he did.

Maybe it had something to do with the accident, but nobody ever bothered to tell him what happened. He couldn't even remember the incident, just a flash of white, blood, a painful throb and a static filling his ears. The next thing he had known he had woken up in a hospital bed to find a doctor sewing his head shut and screamed as loud as he could. That night had been the first of many, many other painful nights, haunted with burning images of what might or might not have happened, an everlasting itch on his head that he was not allowed to scratch in case he made it bleed, and a sickening feeling in his gut.

Now he was here wondering the same thing over and over again. Did he just naturually hate those things or did something cause him to? Well, he had a defense case for the pizza part-He hated the way it tasted and cheese was much, much better-but everything else was a mystery to him. The security guard was suddenly brought back to life when a little girl, who had been sneaking up on him without him knowing, slapped a piece of cake to his face.

His vision was clouded by pink frosting and he was pretty sure some got up his fucking nose too. Bringing his hands up to furiously wipe it away, he heard the child giggle and race away. He heard the bell of the door opening and groaned-Another family coming. Mike stood up and managed to stumble to the bathroom with his terrible vision and wet a towel, pressing it onto his face to wipe it all off.

After Mike had managed to scrub it all away, he furiously threw the towel into the trashcan and brought his fist back to punch a mirror. A mother and her daughter suddenly entered the bathroom and all three stopped dead when they saw one another. After a moment's pause Mike dropped his fist and dragged his feet on the way out of the women's restroom.

The party room had turned even more chaotic in the five minutes he had been away. Rolling his eyes, Mike glared at them all before hearing a shriek. He turned his head to see a chubby boy flailing his arms around as he began to slowly drown in the ball bit. Mike sighed and looked down at his watch. Oh, hey, look at that, it was his lunch break. Turning away from the child, Mike made his way to the pizza counter-Free pizza during lunch was the only thing he really liked about his job. Grabbing a paper plate and piling it high, Mike heard the management approaching him but didn't look up until he heard him say,

"Larry hasn't clocked out yet."

Mike glanced up, fighting the sick feeling that had suddenly caused his stomach to plummet and he nodded, lowering his plate before sighing and glaring back up at the management. He made his way into the back hallway, walking slowly down to the office and peering in, but the nightguard was not there. Already suspecting the worse, Mike made his way to where all the Freddy Fazbear suits were, their eerie eyes glaring up at him. Mike checked inside each one, and it was only till he got to the last one did he find Larry.

The clean-up job took longer than usual. The gears had really cut through the night watch this time, shredding and twisting his intestines around, not to mention that pieces of his brain were snagged in the wires. The blood and mucus was already leaving a terrible odor so he had to clean up right away and tried not to gag when peeling Larry's eyes out, which had gotten jammed into by the Freddy suit's eyes.

After an hour of cleaning, he carried the body out back and opened up the lid to a trashcan. Leaning down, he gently took away the nametag and pocketed it before dumping the body in the trashcan.This had happened too many times already for Mike to feel sorry about the whole thing.

Making his way back inside, washing and scrubbing his hands free of blood, Mike walked back out into the party room and glared at the management, who smiled back, a large piece of white cardboard and red marker in hand. Mike watched him write something in big letters before sticking it to the window:

NOW HIRING.


	3. Chapter Three

Mike swore if he had to put on another pretty princess tiara that day for some stupid birthday girl he would go ballistic, throw all the chairs at the wall, tear down the walls and burn down Freddy Fazbear's and everything associated with it.

It was the third day since Larry had been found dead and the pizzerias still had yet to find a potential hire for the position of night watch. Fritz was acting as the temporary night watch at the moment, but who knew how long that could last? Fritz was starting to get annoyed that he was being switched from his day shift to the night shift, and Mike could sense an oncoming strike coming on.

It wasn't until Mike was once again avoiding the same three kids who always managed to find themselves drowning in the ball pit did he spot a small teen-or maybe he was about twenty years old-passing by the restaurant. Whatever age he was, he looked young.

And he had stopped outside of Fazbear's, glancing up with interest at the NOW HIRING sign. Mike found himself willing for the kid to turn away and pretend he never saw anything, but after a moment of thinking the kid walked inside, the open door bringing in a chilling, biting wind that stung at his face and caused his fluffy brown hair to grow even fluffier.

Cursing silently to himself, Mike stalked up to the kid who was glancing around with interest and asked him in a harsh tone,

"What do you want?"

"Oh...Um....Hi. My n-name is Jeremy, and I s-saw the sign outside...And I r-really need a job...Uh, is there a-a-anyone I can talk to?" The kid asked, glancing up at the security guard nervously.

Raising an eyebrow at his stutter, Mike thought that there was no way this kid would last the first two hours and jabbed his thumb towards the back door, not wanting to be the one to clean this kid's corpse out of a Freddy Fazfuck costume and said,

"You probably won't like it, so I'd say this isn't the job for you, kid."

Jeremy glanced up at him with wide, vivid green eyes and stammered, "Wh-why wouldn't I?"

Mike felt his mouth curl into a sneer unintentionally and shifted his weight onto his other foot, the noise and shrieks of children all around making him more ticked off by the second, and said, "Well, why would you? You look like a wuss."

"I am n-not," Jeremy said, crossing his arms and staring up at Mike with his fluffy brown hair falling into his eyes, "There's n-no need to be rude, okay?"

Mike crossed his arms as well, thinking of another insult to fire at the boy, but his intentions were different than the one the boy was probably assuming, "Beat it kid. I don't need another fucker messing up my job."

Jeremy's eyebrows flew up at the security guard's choice of language and he opened his mouth to say something before closing it, then opening it again as his cheeks were colored a light pink.

"I'm not going to mess up your job. B-by the look of the sign, it says it n-needs a night watch and y-your a security guard, r-right?"

"Kid, just leave," Mike sighed, feeling his forehead crease as his icy gaze glared at the teen, "Trust me when I say you don't want this job. And your insane if you do."

"I need this job," Jeremy begged, eyes wider now, "Are you the m-manager?"

"No, the manager is over there," Mike said, pointing to the counter where the manager was watching a child's birthday party. A half second later Jeremy was bolting over to the manager, completely disregarding whatever Mike had said.

Mike rolled his eyes and sighed. He thought maybe if he scared Jeremy off, then Jeremy would go away, and hopefully nobody else would come to get hired, Fritz would get sick of working the night shift, they would have no night guard so maybe the manager would do it, the manager would die and Fazbear's would close.

He had to hand it to himself with coming up with that in three and a half seconds.

Mike watched as the teen, who way maybe about a whole eight or nine inches shorter than him, talk to the manager, fingers nervously twitching every now and then. Wondering if the kid was always nervous or what, Mike was distracted by three boys running up to him and pelting him with party hats. Growling, he began to chase after them in annoyance.

The kids crawled under the tables to spite him and laughed as one of their own dumped a bowl of punch over his unsuspecting head. The next thing he knew he was peering up to see that Jeremy kid clasping hands with the manager as he said,

"Great! You're hired!"


	4. Chapter Four

"Look at him."

It was his mother's voice outside his bedroom door on another sleepless night, the everlasting burn on his scalp making it hard for him to rest. Upon hearing his mother's voice, he pretended to be asleep.

"Look at him," his mother said again, but any sort of warmth and softness that had been in her voice at the hospital was gone, "Look at his face."

"And?" Now it was his father's voice, and Mike felt his heart thumping, sure he was going to be caught awake, but neither of his parents entered the room, just opened the door enough for a gleam of cold light to shine on him.

"And? He's hideous!"

'Are they talking about me?' Mike thought, but then decided, no of course not, they wouldn't call him hideous, he was mommy's little prince....

"It's not his fault."

"My baby is....Is not my baby!"

"Honey-"

"Where is my handsome prince?!"

"You're overreacting."

Mike kept his eyes closed, not wanting to open them to see his parents fighting. It had been even more frequent ever since he went to the hospital, though how he got hurt, nobody would tell him.

"Would you seriously think that of your own son just because he isn't handsome?"

"It's not just that!"

"...You're ridiculous. Selfish."

"Back off, asshole."

Mike flinched-His mommy had said a bad word, she wasn't supposed to say that word!

"How can I look at him the same without imagining that awful incident?! I don't want to live with that!"

"Think about how bad it is for him!" His father's voice had reached a harsh level Mike had never heard before, "Think of all the things he will never get to do."

"It's his fault," there was a sniff, "Why couldn't he listen?"

"He's a kid-"

"But he-"

"Don't just-"

"Shut up-"

"Honey-"

"Don't talk to me!"

"Just stop-"

"I SAID SHUT UP!"

Mike flinched as his mother shouted and they carried their fight somewhere else and turned over onto his back, ice blue eyes wet with hot tears about to come. The scars at the top of his head tingled with each thought of his mother and his hands clenched tightly. His ninth birthday was only in a month, what would they be doing that day? These were the only thoughts the child could find to distract himself from his parents as he lay quietly in bed, the suppressed tears drying up.

The next morning, Mike awoke motherless.

\-------  
Mike jerked awake, staring at the ceiling of his living room. He had apparently passed out on the couch and it was six in the morning, an hour from his shift, and had once again had that same old dream. Feeling like he should clock in early to clean up the mess that was most likely there, Mike dragged his ass off the couch and into the cold shower for a few minutes before pulling on his uniform and making his way to Fazfuck's.

Mike pulled his key ring from his belt loop and flipped through each key before finding the right one and inserting it into the lock. As soon as the door flung open Mike sighed and closed the door, preparing for the awful smell of blood that would soon be filling his nostrils as he walked to the office, giving all the anamatronics a glare, and they seemed to glare right back. Upon entering the office and finding it empty, Mike sighed with a familiar unpleasant feeling in his stomach as he went to go check the Freddy Fazbear costumes, however they were all empty.

Frowning for real now, Mike began to search everywhere for the fluffy-haired teen, wondering if maybe he had managed to survive the night and had run home screaming with the intention of never looking back. Mike banged open a locker, scowling at it's emptiness before moving onto the next one, but before he could so much as raise his fist a small, terrified voice squeaked,

"H-help..."

Mike hesitated before hitting the top right corner so the locker would fly open without the combination. Inside, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his pale face buried into them, sat Jeremy. After a moment Mike extended a hand to help him up and Jeremy's own clammy one grasped his. As soon as he was standing, Jeremy gave a whimper and began to walk away, looking like he was going to throw up. A half second later the sound of upchuck hitting the floor sounded and Mike waited patiently for him to be through.

"I...I...I j-just..." Jeremy's voice was a high whine, as they always were if someone ever managed to somehow survive. Mike crossed his arms, glaring down at him as he said, 

"You can always quit."

And, to his utter shock, after a while of thinking, Jeremy stuttered a soft 'no thank you.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The JereMike will come soon, folks, crappy chapter is crappy, my phone battery is at 69% and I don't know if I should be scared or not, vote or Vincent will stab you. :D
> 
> -TomatoBastardRoma


	5. Chapter Five

"You have a death wish," Mike concluded as he stared at Jeremy, who was sipping his vanilla milkshake like there was no tomorrow, "A serious fucking death wish, kid."

"No," Jeremy sighed, frowning over at Mike, "I just....I r-really need money, okay?"

Mike frowned back, before looking down at his hands. They were bandaged, white gauze wrapped around his palms and thumbs. He took a moment to itch at one of them before asking,

"Do you always stutter when you speak?"

"Um...N-no," Jeremy's voice betrayed him. Mike gave a little smirk at his attempted cover-up and leaned forward on his elbows, his blue eyes finding Jeremy's green and staring. Jeremy's eyes widened at the sudden challenge of a staring contest before bravely staring back. Mike stared. Jeremy stared. They both stared until Jeremy felt tears well up in his eyes, but Mike just continued staring. He was a master of staring, so it seemed.

"Listen, kid, you should just quit the job," Mike sighed as Jeremy returned to his milkshake, his shoulders hunched slightly, "The pay is shit, seriously. You're gonna get killed one of these days, and-"

"How c-come the manager d-d-didn't tell me about any of it?" Jeremy cut in, looking up at Mike warily. Mike blinked.

"Because the manager is a douche bag?"

"I figured that, b-but...Does he w-want me to get killed?"

"I don't know. I would say he does, but even that's pretty fucking low. Then again, the man is an all-time hapless little piece of shit that-"

"Good morning, Mike," A familiar voice said. The two men looked up to see an older man standing there with a wicked grin on his face as he eyed Jeremy with a look that read 'fresh meat.'

"Uh, g-good morning, sir," Jeremy whimpered, looking back down at his milkshake as his hand trembled slightly under the gaze of his boss. He was just a high schooler he didn't want to die now oh my god please help-

"How was everything last night? Did everything go okay?" Their boss asked, ignoring the glare that Mike was sending harshly his way. Jeremy nodded and continued to sip his milkshake, trying to ignore his employer's presence. After a moment he left.

"Just quit now, asswipe," Mike said in a love voice, his eyes finding Jeremy's and training on them, "Just quit now, okay? I just...I don't-"

"Why were you so rude to me yesterday?" Jeremy asked quietly, eyes flickering down to his milkshake and stirring it with his straw, "Why?"

"I....I was trying to scare you away," Mike suddenly looked sheepish, "Look, I know it's a pretty douchy way to do it and I am the ultimate king of douchebaggery, but-"

"It's alright," Jeremy sighed, finishing off his drink and shoving the glass aside. Neither of them had ordered actual food-Mike's Pepsi remained untouched.

They were silent for a few moments, until Jeremy looked up at Mike with a pleading look in his eye.

"I c-can't do this night alone, M-Mr. Schmidt. I r-r-really need help and I r-really need this job."

"So what, you want me to babysit you or something?" Mike asked, and he subconsciously reached up to adjust his hat, making sure they concealed his scars, "No thanks, kid. I'm not exactly babysitter material."

"Just the one n-night!" Jeremy begged, leaning closer to Mike over the table, eyes wide in terror. Mike forced himself to look away-The last person he had seen look at him like that was a woman who just turned twenty seven and planned to use the money from her job to go visit her husband because he was deported to Vietnam as a soldier. She never made it past night three.

"I swore to myself I wouldn't be back in that fucking office," Mike told the ceiling, his eye blue eyes narrowed as if he couldn't hear or see Jeremy, or was at least pretending not to.

"Please...Mike. Please."

Mike made the mistake of looking back down at Jeremy.

The fluffy-haired teen was giving him a wide-eyed, terrified look and seemed to be shaking down to his core, his hands clutching the table to keep himself steady, overlong sleeves making him look even more stupid and vulnerable than he really was. Mike flinched at the thought of his body being crushed and broken inside an animatronic suit and sighed.

"Fine, you douche bag," Mike glared, "But I'm not paying for your fucking therapy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck. I actually had this chapter written a month ago. BOOM, the draft vanished. It was such a good chapter too. So I've written this at least four times already but fucking shitty computer deletes everything.
> 
> Fuck my life.
> 
> I hope you half-enjoyed this piece of shit chapter.


	6. Chapter Six

"Night, Mike!" His manager called, and Mike flipped him the bird behind his retreating back. The manager must have sensed this, because he turned and gave Mike a smile before turning away again, also raising his middle finger. Mike watched as the man walked out of the restaurant with a chuckle, a cigarette already half way to his lips. It was nine o'clock, and Jeremy's shift started at twelve. Mike sighed as he headed to the locker room, where the two other guys he worked with were already pulling on jackets and bidding him good night. Unlike him, they had only ever worked the day shift, so they were unaware of the anamatronic's capability.

After Mike had pulled on his own hoodie and beanie, he glanced at the collection of name tags on the inside of his locker. Larry's was the newest, just underneath Melissa's. There was maybe twelve in total, though there had certainly been more night guards than that-Their name tags just hadn't been salvageable.

"Are those all the p-people who die?"

Mike jumped and whirled around to see Jeremy standing there with wide eyes, his fluffy brown hair concealed beneath the standard night watch cap already, his bag strung over his shoulder.

"Jesus kid, you nearly gave me a heart attack."

"I'm s-sorry, Mr. Schmidt."

Mike gave Jeremy a look before sighing, shaking his head, and leading him into the office after he changed. Jeremy sat down in his seat and glanced around before saying,

"I still don't r-really know what t-to do."

Mike raised an eyebrow and sat down as well, giving the Freddy Fazbear posters a distasteful look before asking, "What?"

"Well, I h-had no idea h-how to work anything, b-but the man on the phone-"

"Screw the phone guy."

"W-well, he just s-said that I had to look out for the anamatronics and that th-they moved! At first, I didn't b-believe him, but then the little bunny..." Jeremy shivered and a look of terror flashed across his face, "It chased me and th-then-!"

"So...Let me get this straight," Mike said slowly, fighting the fury that was slowly rising up inside him as he placed his hands in his lap, clenching his fists, "You started last night without even knowing the ropes?"

"Y-Yes, but I'm not even sure how I s-survived...."

"Because it's Monday," Mike groaned, running a hand over his face and leaning back, "Oh god it's Monday, and they'e going to be worse today."

Jeremy gave a noise that sounded like a half-shriek and half a mouse squeak. Mike would have questioned the noise if there wasn't blood rushing in his ears from his fury. But then he stopped dead, and he felt the fury give way to curiosity.

"Wait a minute...You  _survived_ the night without having any knowledge of...Anything?!"

"Well...I r-really only had one thought in m-my mind when I was running," Jeremy looked down at his fingers which were folded together, each digit intertwined and his knuckles were white with fear, "I've g-got to stay alive for my mom, you know?"

Mike nodded, then shook his head.

"No, not really."

"D-don't you have a mother?"

Mike's fingers twitched and he had to refrain himself from slapping Jeremy, or at least hitting the back of his head.

_It's not the kid's fault...He doesn't know...._

"No."

Jeremy. Jeremy Fitzgerald. Right now Mike could fucking hug the guy for just nodding simply and saying "oh", and not looking  _sympathetic._ He could have married the man right now for not treating him with  _pity,_ for not feeling  _sorry_ for him.

But then again, how would Jeremy act if he saw his scars?...

No. He would keep them hidden.

The next few moments were spent in an agonizing silence. With each tick the clock made, each time the fan turned, every time Jeremy blinked, Mike felt his anxiousness grow. At any given moment, that clock would strike twelve and their six hours of hell would begin. The animatronics would come alive.

"So, kid," Mike began, but Jeremy said,

"I h-have a name!"

Mike raised an eyebrow, "Do you now?"

Jeremy's face flushed and he stammered out a small "yes!"

Mike rolled his eyes before he felt his own buzz in his pocket. With a frown, he pulled out the piece of crap and glanced at the screen. It was Doll. What was she doing calling him this late at night?

"Good night, guys!" A voice called through the pizzeria. Jeremy jumped slightly at the sudden voice, but it was only Crystal, the young Australian guy that was currently filling in the position of janitor. He had once accidentally locked himself in a supply closet when Mike was still a night guard, and they both kept the happenings of Fazbear's nights silent. Sometimes Crystal even helped him clean up blood if he clocked in early.

"Who texted you?" Jeremy asked with curiosity, looking over at Mike's screen and examining Doll's picture. The text read 'I found one of your beanies in my closet, can I come over now and drop it off?'

"Old girlfriend of mine," Mike said with disinterest, discarding the phone onto the table carelessly, "It was pretty nasty, actually, but we're still friends. Why am I telling you this?"

Jeremy just gave a little shrug and Mike noticed suddenly that the buttons in his shirt were all off by one. He felt his eye twitch and muttered something about fixing them, but the clock struck twelve, and he fell silent.

Hell had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, am I really the only JereMike on here? O_O Wow I expected there to be more, because JereMike is love!
> 
> I don't know if it's really true, me being the only JereMike on here, but I promise to not let you guys down! :D Sorry if updates are a little slow, I'm only like in the sixth grade (well I guess I'm about to be in the seventh!) yet I have basketball camp so >.> Evillllllll. I want to be the shortest person on the Houston Rockets ever. And a good player at that. Heh :D A dude can dream!
> 
> So....
> 
> Ja!
> 
> Guten tag,
> 
> -TomatoBastardRoma
> 
> P.S. If you're looking for a good JereMike series...There's always the JereMike Collection on Wattpad....Shh I told you nothing


	7. Chapter Seven

The pre-recorded messages of Phone Guy played eerily through the semi-silence, in which the only sounds were Jeremy's heavy breathing and the whirring of the fan. Mike swiveled in his chair for a moment before finding the Fazfuck masks-He tossed one to Jeremy, who gave a yelp and dropped the tablet into his lap with surprise, barely managing to catch the mask.

"Don't break the tablet or we're both royally fucked," Mike growled, giving Jeremy a slight glare. If the kid screwed this up...

"What do I do if they get in the vents?"

"Put the mask on, they'll think you're one of them and leave."

"A-and this Balloon Boy, d-does he m-move?"

"Yeah, he gets in the vents."

"What do I d-d-do if he gets in the v-vents?"

"Pray."

Jeremy's eyes widened slightly as Mike said this and stuttered out a shocked "pray?!" Mike nodded, growling to himself when he remembered the stress Fuckboy brought upon him by stealing his battery power. 

"He is the fuckiest fucker in this fucked fuckhole."

"That is a lot of fucks."

They fell into silence, the message having ended minutes ago, and waited on tenterhooks on the edges of their seats. Jeremy payed careful attention to the tablet but Mike had to yelp at him more than three times to not forget to wind the music box.

"What does i-it do?!"

"Keeps the puppet away," Mike said, checking the lights on the vents, "You do not want the puppet on your ass."

"But...." Jeremy blinked at the look Mike was giving him and bowed his head over the tablet, hands shaking slightly in anticipation for what dangers the night held. Mike brought a hand up to scratch at his scars, but hesitated. No, he better not to do that. That would risk revealing them to Jeremy, and also draw blood again. He didn't need that happening during their-well, Jeremy's-shift.

"Why did you..." Jeremy trailed off, bright green eyes traveling up to meet Mike's ice-colored ones, but before he could carry on he placed a steady hand on the kid's shaking shoulder.

"Look, kid-Jeremy-let's save all the talking and all the questions until we're out of here, m'kay?"

He allowed his iced gaze to soften slightly and Jeremy nodded, but flinched when Mike tightened his grip.

"Now wind the freaking music box."

Jeremy yelped and switched the camera over to the Prize Corner, where the yellow triangle was beginning to flash. Mike gripped the edges of his seat and allowed his tensed muscles to relax slowly, before rubbing his hands on his face.

How did he get into this mess again?

He swore he would not come back here to work the night shift.

Ever.

So why did he do it?

He turned his head to look at the fluffy mass of brown hair and bright green eyes, trembling body and over-sized shirt.

_Oh right._

Because of this stupid little kid.

This stupid little high-schooler decided he wanted a job at Fazbear's, and well, he got one. Maybe not one he desired that would not end with him encompassed in a mechanical suit that would gouge out his eyes, but hey, money is money. Mike wondered what could have happened to this kid that could have driven him to want money so badly. Was it his family? Or had he been kicked out and was desperately looking for a place to crash? In that case, Mike could offer him a place, but-

No. No way. Not getting close to someone who could potentially die on the job.

He is not going to become friends with this fragile little kid that looked ready to pee his own pants.

The bandages on top of his head and on his head itched.

"Mr. Schmidt!" Jeremy's voice cut through all his thoughts, and Mike glanced up to see Jeremy beaming and pointing at the clock.

"It's six!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooooooo sorry for the delay in chapters QAQ I honestly grew out of the fandom, but with the smashing arrival of FNaF 4, was thrust back in! So here I am~
> 
> And sorry if this is occasionally written in second-person view, in present tense, because I have become accustomed to writing Contrastive! Sorry :D
> 
> Expect more chapters MUCH more frequently!


	8. Chapter Eight

Mike and Jeremy burst through the front doors and Jeremy fell to his knees, preaching a small “hallelujah” and giving a hysterical giggle.

“We made it! We survived the night! Mr. Schmidt-”

Mike shot Jeremy the evillest glare he could muster and mumbled something about coffee, turning on his heel and walking away from Fitzgerald. Right now, he was exhausted, hungry, and feeling heavy. At the moment, he didn’t care if the kid quit or went back or what, he just needed a fucking cup of coffee.

“Wait!” Jeremy called, rushing forward and placing a hand on Mike’s shoulder. Mike flinched and turned around to see him staring up at him with wide, green eyes.

“L-let me buy you a coffee! After all, y-you worked double shift to help m-me!”

“Go home,” Was all Mike could string together. The floor suddenly seemed very comfortable. 

Jeremy slid his hand down to grab Mike’s sleeve and tugged him forward-They were standing in the middle of the small town’s intersection, shops bordering every side, and Fazbear’s loomed silently behind them, tucked menacingly between a Justice Just for Girls and a Baby’s R Us.

Terrifying.

Jeremy led Mike around the three blocks it took to get to a Dunkin’ Donuts, and when he did, he held the door open for the beanie-worn security guard. Mike brought a hand up to instinctively adjust his hat so he could take a scratch at his head (believe it or not, the combination of stitches, bandages, and beanies made everything super fucking itchy) but froze. Jeremy was still behind him, trying to tell him something, but everything just seemed to freeze, to pause.

Then when life seemed to start again he and Jeremy were standing in line as Jeremy recited to the cashier a list of donuts and coffee.

Mike blinked but regained himself quickly-there were moments where he had blanks. Black-outs. Where a piece of the universe, a puzzle piece, just fell out and left him staring at the empty blank space. Left him wondering what he had missed. What had happened.

But he’s been dealing with these so called blanks for almost twenty years-his birthday, in two months, when he turns twenty-four, will be the eighteenth year mark for his frontal lobe incident.

And speaking of birthdays….

“How old are you even, kid?” Mike asked, and he felt as if this was one of the first sentences in which he had not practically snarled at the high-schooler. Jeremy flicked a strand of brown behind his ear and said,

“Next July I’ll be eighteen.”

Mike raised an eyebrow and Jeremy looked confused.

“What’s th-the matter?”

“I just thought you were...Younger. Fifteen, sixteen.”

“My m-mom always says I look m-much younger than I actually am,” Jeremy explained, taking the bags handed to them, the ones containing their donuts, “I don’t know what kind of donuts you like, so I just got you two glazed ones…”

They sat at a table and Mike was given his own two donuts and cup of coffee, watching bleary-eyed as Jeremy managed to chomp down four chocolate donuts and still have room for the iced coffee in his hand.

“Damn. How much can you fucking fit in that stomach?”

Jeremy seemed slightly disapproving of Mike’s constant use of vulgar language, but disregarded it anyways. They sat in silence until Mike began to feel a little more awake, a bit more aware. He stood to leave, thanking Jeremy, but Jeremy said,

“No, thank y-you...I would have d-died back th-there.”

Mike felt a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach as he asked, “You’ll quit, right?”

Jeremy looked down into his cup of coffee, squinting at the ice before looking up again and saying,

“No, Mr.Schmidt. I will not quit.”


	9. Chapter Nine

Mike had given up, and, quite frankly, he was all out of fucks to give. Fuck Fazbear, fuck Jeremy, fuck the manager, fuck everybody.

He gave too many fucks and now he was taking them back.

As soon as he collapsed onto his shitty couch back at home he yawned and flung his beanie across the room to join the several crushed Coke cans resting beside overflowing trashcan. He should probably take out the trash eventually, but the kids next door always seemed waiting to torture him with water guns every time he left his apartment. Sometimes to leave for work he simply climbed out the window.

Sometime later, he dragged himself off of his couch, lazily adjusting his tie and scratching at his head, relieving the ever burning burn upon it. He crossed the room to get his beanie, while adjusting his slacks as well. Time for fucking work.

The first few hours of work were tolerable.

Screaming kids hitting at him with balloon swords, mothers not giving a shit, the management giving him sly smiles every time Mike politely flipped him off in a not-so-inconspicuous way. A few times he found himself nodding off until another kid stepped on his foot or attempted to pull his tie down and successfully manage to choke him. He swatted the kid away, getting to his feet and walking around the perimeter.

While the first four hours were tolerable-manageable, at least, the rest were not. On his lunch break he nodded off and woke up to find that he had face-planted into his pizza and now cheese up his nose. Fan fucking tastic. The second time he nodded off he had been so out of it some kid had managed to smush a whole ice-cream cone onto his head to make him a "unicorn" and he hadn't even noticed.

After taking time to wipe the dripping ice cream off of his head, Mike searched for something to do that would keep him wide awake-he could continue standing until his shift was over, but with the way the ground seemed to wobble and his head spun, he suspected he didn't have long until he just passed out.

He must have had four cups of soda before going to the restroom and leaning against the toilet for a few minutes feeling as if he was about to puke his guts out. After five minutes spent on shaking knees, he ran a hand over his head and under his hat, feeling the only slight relief to the itchiness on his head as he leaned against the wall of the stall. He'd never done this before-Day shift, night shift, day shift. And it's not like he got much sleep before yesterday's day shift either, getting all worked up and worried about that fucking Jeremy kid.

And speaking of Jeremy...

He would surely die tonight.

Even if they somehow managed to make it past night two, no matter how brave or scared they looked, nobody had ever made to night four. Ever.

And yet he was the exception.

And he, the exception, will be forced to look at another corpse the next morning-One that, tonight, he was too tired to handle another night shift. Tonight, Jeremy Fitzgerald will be no more.

Mike suspected that this thought had finally triggered his puke reflex and a second later he was heaving himself back onto his knees, releasing his lunch, breakfast, and yesterdays dinner into the toilet.

Well that fucking sucked.

After wiping his mouth and rinsing it with water, he made his way back to the party room only to find that the room had suddenly become purple. Blinking, Mike looked down at the kids that ran around in circles like crazy. That's funny. Since when did kids look like Goombas?

And the singing. Oh god the cheesy horrible singing. Make it stop.

It seemed like only a second passed and he suddenly woke up on a bench in the locker room. Fritz was pulling his bag out of his locker, which contained all his textbooks for the college courses he took downtown.

"Hey ugly," He greeted Mike, who sat up groaning, pressing his fingertips to his forehead.

"What the fuck do you want."

"Follow me on tumblr."

"For the last time, what the fuck is a tumblr?"

Fritz closed the door and seemed to give him an eerie look, "Join the dark side, Mike."

"No thanks."

"There's blogs for Pokemon."

Mike allowed himself to give a huge yawn as another guard-one he didn't talk to much at all-slammed the locker shut with so much force he could almost feel it vibrate through his skull. Growling, he turned to glare at the guard, who smiled at him.

"What the fuck, Vincent?"

"Sorry," was all he said, and slung his own bag, smaller than Fritz's, over his shoulder. Nobody knew what was in it. He brushed past the two of them with a piece of toast in his hands, muttering a low 'good night.'

"That guy freaks me out," This time it was the Australian-accented voice of Crystal-Chris, they called him- jingling his keys from his finger and rolling the janitorial cart away to the supply closet.

"Why does he get to have a different colored uniform?" Fritz pouted, looking down at his blue button-up, "I'd like orange. But he gets purple."

"The management is his grandfather, I hear," Chris informed. Mike and Fritz stared at Chris for a while, until he cleared his throat and said "Yeah....I gotta go home. My brother is waiting for me. Bye!"

Mike gave another yawn as he too opened his locker, pulling out a bottle of water and saying, "What happened?"

"Whadd'ya mean?" Fritz asked, occupied with searching for something under the benches.

"I mean, a couple of hours ago, I was about to fucking fall asleep and then I wake up on a bench."

"Really? You seemed perfectly fine to me. But about five minutes from our end shift you went funny," Fritz succeeded in his search, pulling a bag of Cheetos from underneath a lumpy sweater nobody would identify as theirs, "You started singing. Badly. Then you went quiet and went here and that's the last I saw of ya till you woke up."

"...And what song did I so beautifully sing?" Mike asked, eyeing the bag as Fritz opened them and stuffed a few in his mouth. He was starving and he had completely emptied his stomach of any food inside earlier. The crinkling of the bag, however, irritated his headache further more, and with irritation he took a swig from his water bottle.

"I don't know. It was in a different language," Fritz blinked, "You said arschloch at one point."

Mike paled, "Damn."

"What?"

"I was fucking singing in German!"

Fritz blinked again, a fine orange powder coating his mouth as he chewed slowly, "You speak German?"

"Back around the...Accident," Mike explained as he continued to sip from his water, which made his headache better steadily, "They had me do a whole bunch of stuff. Dancing for hand-eye coordination, had me draw in the lines of the coloring books to see if I wad capable enough to do that, and taught me Spanish. The Spanish was to help see if I could memorize things, and i was real good at it, and when my mom came back, she was really impressed and started signing me up for all sorts of language classes to help me out."

"So...What languages can you speak?" Fritz offered Mike some Cheetos, but he shook his head.

"Spanish, Italian, and German. I took French in high school but dropped out half way." Mike shook his head, bringing his palms up to press against it, "Oh my fucking fuck."

"Go home," Fritz suggested.

"With pleasure."

Nodding towards Fritz as he exited, Mike made his way down the street to where he parked to car. It was a piece of trash, a faded rusty red that had seen better days. The radio frequency was shit, there was no heat, one window pane was missing in the back seat, and it got overly hot in the summer.

Mike loved it.

As soon as he stepped in, he slammed the door shut and started the car, itching to get home so he could get out of the freezing weather and into a warm bed. The car gave a low groan before starting up, and Mike drove all the way home before stomping upstairs and narrowly avoiding a beam of water being shot at him from the neighbor's twins. Once inside the apartment, he collapsed on his couch.

With every intention of going to sleep, he closed his eyes.

But opened them not a second later.

The little shit was on his mind.

That little fucker was making him worried. He had barely gotten home and already Jeremy was on his mind, worrying over him. There was no way Jeremy would be able to survive tonight. They all ended up dying one way or another.

Mike pressed his finger tips over his eyelids, his bandaged palms brushing against his cheeks as he gave an irritated sigh. He just wanted to go to sleep, god fucking damn it. But the image of the teen being scraped out of the shell of a suit the next morning by him was burning into his brain.

He hadn't even been in his apartment for five minutes when he left again.

He was going to go see Jeremy.

 


End file.
